The Monterey Historics: Glorious Man, Glorious Machines

My thoughts wander back to my old Mustang. Soon after returning home from our trip back in ’88, my pride and joy was stolen and stripped of its guts. So much hard work and effort, all gone. So much time spent scrubbing grease and oil off of my hands and from beneath my fingernails. Hours and hours spent polishing and cleaning and dreaming of making that Mustang better.

It’s been many years since I’ve owned anything resembling a classic car, the last being a convertible 1972 Buick Centurion, burnt copper in color and 455 cubic inches under the hood, that was destroyed in an accident (you should have seen the other car). And maybe I’ve been hanging out with these Alfa cats too long, but once again I find myself infected with the virus, that desire for pain and pleasure that only a classic can provide. This time, though, it’s the twin cams and round tail of a Duetto beckoning me, its siren-song loosening my wallet and drawing out the password to my bank account… Anyone in the market for a low-mileage Subaru with a brand new battery?